Corrosive Dreams
by Kymothy
Summary: When Captain Jack Harkness begins to see things in the times between life, he thinks he's going insane. But as his dreams collide with reality, bringing old faces back to haunt him, he is forced to fight for everything he loves. Will he lose it all in the battle of Wolves and Angels?
1. Prologue to Heaven

**Corrosive Dreams**

Prologue to Heaven

All it had ever known was darkness, but something had changed. A thicker, oily black seemed to muffle its mind, all reason forgotten.

It lurked in the sewers of this new planet, the winding pipes and stench reminiscent of the tunnels that its species favoured; weevils are rodents, scurrying and scuttling in the shadows of the galaxy like oversized rats, wary of the bustling cities and open streets above.

A primitive species, animals, living only to skulk in filth and the grey of night.

It was not in the usual monochrome shades that it saw then, though, but through a mist of red - an inexplicable rage, clouding its already stunted thoughts, induced by the agony it felt; there was something, huge, incomprehensible, pressing on its consciousness, stripping it away with each wave of pain.

Nor did it hide underground any longer; the madness drove it from its usual haunts. Its horny, calloused snout was encrusted with old blood, and its clawed hands ached to tear again at flesh.

Footsteps. It turned towards the noise, shapes flitting away across the edges of its vision. Two of them. '**Humans,' **it suddenly knew, though never before had it put such a word to the noisy beings living on the surface.

**'As the current presiding species of this planet, Earth, they show much potential. They shall be used for great ends and purposes, in time.'**

A voice that was not quite a voice spoke in its mind, compelling it to act. The creature felt the loss of control, a sense that maybe the thoughts weren't its own, but it could not understand what was happening, much less fight the will of this Voice, this puppeteer.

And if it _hadn't_ been a puppet, rabid on its strings, the weevil's instincts would have told it to run from the pair of bipedals with the predatory aura, stalking it from across the street. They would have told it to shrink back and live, but the unnatural bloodlust overruled any instinct of survival.

It snarled, frothing, preparing to leap at the foremost human, a small and dark-furred female. She bared her teeth at the action, a gap showing between the two front, as she drew a small weapon.

It kicked off, charging at full pelt with a hollow scream, knowing full well that it would be brought down, but unable to care. It was right; a hot pain in its chest stopped it mid-jump and its vision began to darken as tranquiliser coursed through its limbs, leadening and pulling them down.

The haze of fury dissipated, dimming along with its sight, as the face of the second hunter appeared above, thrown into relief by a torch. Glassy eyes stared up, giving into unconsciousness-

**'Face identified; Captain Jack Harkness,**

**Associate of the ****Doctor,**

_**Kill**_ **_on sight.'_**

Its claws snapped around the neck of the human like a vice, pulling him down, the man's surprise at this burst of strength working to its advantage, allowing a split second for the weevil to obey the intruding presence.

It buried its jaws in the man's throat.

'JACK!' The female's scream only fueled the creature's frenzy. Its victim's hands tried desperately to push it away, but his struggles were weak. In its peripheral vision it saw the other human sprint towards them, dropping the tranq gun and pulling out something far more effective. It wouldn't stop, though; the Voice gave it a purpose, easy to follow, impossible to refuse.

The animal jerked back its head, ripping and rending the flesh, savouring the sweet blood salving its tongue for only a moment before-

* * *

BANG!

Gwen's gaze followed the line of her arm, down past her slightly shaking handgun and to the twisted body of the weevil, blood pouring from its skull to pool around the torn body of her best friend.

There was a moment of blind panic until her brain kicked in and she remembered who she was with. Jack, impossible Jack, who could live through anything, heal from any wound.

Seconds ticked by, Gwen never taking her eyes off Jack, her harsh breathing slowing but a hitch remaining in her breath at the sight. Her eyes blurred but she swiped them clear with the back of her hand.

'He'll come back, he always does. Any minute now,' she kept a tight grip on her gun, even as she clicked on the safety, her own reassurances a mantra in her head as she waited.

And waited.

And waited.

* * *

**A.N: Thanks so much for reading! This is my first story, and I would love any criticism and suggestions you have to offer. It will be canon compliant (or as close as I can manage.)**

**Disclaimer: The shows, characters and settings in this story are owned by the BBC, only the story and any original characters and settings are mine. I am not writing for profit, only for my own and reader's pleasure.**


	2. Heaven Beckons

Heaven Beckons

'Goddamn,' was his first thought. 'Not again.'

Tracking down the weevil, cornering it, the madness in its eyes as it shot off the floor - his memory came back in a trickle then a rush as his consciousness did the same. It was foolhardy, approaching the creature with so little caution, he berated himself, but he was relieved that it was his guts on the concrete, and not Gwen's; she was a hardy little Celt, but mortal all the same.

He often wondered if mortality really was a prerequisite of humanity, as the Doctor had often said, and if that meant he was as something more, now. Or something less.

He stopped himself ('Always keep moving on', the Doctor said that too) and set his mind on marginally lighter tracks; he was going to get himself a good scolding when he woke, and at the image of Gwen in an apron, rapping his knuckles with a wooden spoon, he decided to get it over with and opened his eyes to see-

Blackness.

He blinked - or would have, were it not that he were completely immobile. Abruptly frantic, he tried to raise a hand to his eyes, but to no avail; sensation eluded him just as his sight did.

His mind whirled. Had something gone wrong in the regenerative process? Was he still lying on the concrete, paralysed and blind?

Or had he used up a previously unknown quota of lives, leaving him... dead? Finally? He couldn't feel his heartbeat, nor hear his pulse, but he was awake and thinking - though his panic began to fog his thoughts.

But oblivion did not come, as it had upon every other instance of his death, nor was there any sign of the ocean-like utopia, a realm of peace under the waves, the dream of which was instilled in the children of the Boeshane Peninsula in their faery tales and bedtime stories. They told of bright lights and beautiful music, happiness and being with your loved ones for ever.

Mostly by parents who wanted to explain away why some that went across the water to the island that housed their 'overseers' never came back.

His mind wandered back into memory, and was trapped there, as he felt himself suffocating, pinned down, helpless.

There was a song, parroted by children at play, sung by his mother to Grey and him at night, written more than thirty centuries before and passed down through generations of humans as they spread throughout the galaxy, echoed in his mind with such clarity that she might have been there with him.

'_Come away, O human child,_

_To the waters and the wild,_

_With a faery, hand in hand,_

_For the world's more full of weeping,_

_Than you can understand...'_

As he let the memory wash over him, soothing him, he became very aware of two things. Primarily, someone _was_ singing, though the voice was steadily sounding less and less like anything that could come from a human mouth, and more like a hundred voices, eerily enchanting , almost hypnotic...

Secondly, and perhaps more pressingly, he could see fire.

A golden spark, then two, then a cluster, danced in front of him (or what he assumed was the front. Being asomatous was quite disorienting), growing into an ever brightening flame, casting dappled, fluid reflections (on what, he couldn't tell, but he wasn't even going to try and consider the physics of a substance he was seeing in his mind). _  
_

He tried to rationalise what was happening. Maybe there was some telepathic creature, fallen through the Rift, holding him in a trance. Perhaps he'd just been drugged. Maybe-

He stopped himself. He was grasping at straws, and he knew it; the effects of drugs were much less potent on him, and he'd had enough experience with, and training against, telepathic interference at the Time Agency that the idea of _not knowing_ that someone was in his mind was ludicrous.

He felt his train of thought peter out, as the tiny flame danced and flickered. The light was fascinating, almost... _familiar..._

Suddenly the voice thundered, impossibly loud, pressing down on him. There were layers upon layers of noise, screaming voices to the implosions of galaxies and drums like heartbeats.

At the same time the golden flame billowed, and as if igniting the air it filled the empty surroundings with pulsing veins and clouds of every hue, expanding forever, and Jack felt as if he was looking into the heart every star, every living thing, every second in time at once-

His still heart skipped as what he recognised as the Time Vortex rushed past him.

It felt just as it had when he clung to the shell of the TARDIS; he was burning, overwhelmed, not only his body but his very essence being consumed by the light. Now though, he had no eyelids to squeeze shut, no vision to be darkened by death, and he saw it all, if only for an instant- every moment of forever and it was eternal and beautiful and _pliable._

The spinning mass got ever brighter and the voices, sonourous and immense, deep and high, grew more and more unbearable until he felt that his very existence would be swallowed and extinguished and lost forever in this endless place-

When a voice, feminine and melodious, somehow discernable over the screaming time winds, murmered, '_Save him. Jack Harkness, you must save the Doctor from the Angel, you ** must save him**_.'_  
_

_'My_ Doctor? And what angel?' Detached from the confusion, a small corner of his mind noted, rather incredulously, that it was spoken in a soft, South London accent. It sounded almost like...

The next instant he felt his legs (abruptly restored and very unsteady) slam into a hard floor and crumple, and found himself on hands and knees, staring down through metal mesh to blinking lights and alien mechanisms, heart thumping harder than he had thought possible, a mixture of exhaustion and growing expectancy as all of a sudden he just _knew._

A voice rang out, so very, very similar yet completely different to the pleading one he had heard only moments earlier, over the wheezing engines. Breathing slowing, he found the strength to look up, and saw an impossible yet beautiful tableau he had counted upon never seeing again.

Leant against the railing to steady herself, Rose spoke animatedly to the Doctor as he dashed around the TARDIS's control panel, ears big and grin bigger, leather jacket gleaming in the column's glow.

* * *

**A.N: Thanks for reading. The song is an extract of the poem 'The Stolen Child' by William Yeats, 1889.**


	3. Pipe Dreams

Pipe Dreams

He clambered to his feet, gripping the corner of the control panel, feeling his coat swirl around his shins. He didn't... he just couldn't... For the first time in a long time, Jack Harkness was lost for words.

But characteristically, not for long.

'DOCTOR!'

God, how he'd missed his stupid, beaming, genius Time Lord. It didn't matter what face he was wearing, or how impossible it was that he was there, just that he _was_ there, after months of waiting for him to come back, to change his mind about Jack's company.

Just as Jack himself did only weeks- days- after his own refusal. He loved his little team, but being trapped, protecting Earth, wasn't right for him. He needed to _run..._

His musings trailed off as the Doctor's dark blue eyes stayed fixed upon a point within the snarl of wires and maze of buttons, betraying no recognition. Jack moved further around the column, more cautiously than before.

'...Doctor? It's me. C'mon, Doc, I'm right he-'

'Why are you wearing that?' the Doctor's northern voice cut him off. He stared, bewildered, as the other turned to the blonde stood nonchalantly nearby.

'This?' Rose looked down at her Union Jack T-shirt.

Jack was hit by a strange sense of nostalgia as he saw it, though that may just have been the sudden bout of queasiness he felt at his predicament; the countless incredible things he'd seen at the Time Agency and Torchwood, and he still didn't have the faintest idea what in the hell was happening.

'Y'know, bit of national pride. Me and Mum always watch the Olympics - usually just so she has something to talk about at the barbecues, mind you.'

'Doctor!' he tried again, though it had no more effect. He stepped up, directly behind him. 'Goddamn it, I'm right here!'

'I've always wanted to be in the intergalactic Olympics- what do you think? I bet I'd be a dab hand at the anti-grav motorbike...'

'DOC- GAH!' The Doctor, turning back to the console with a silly grin, reached forwards and _straight through_ Jack.

He stared down at the arm thrust up to the shoulder into his chest, his whole mind grinding to a halt except that one stupid, bloody voice in the back making its- 'Didn't know you were so eager to be _inside_ me, Doctor' _-stupid bloody puns._

'Intergalactic? _Anti-gravity?_ When? Where? Does Earth play? You _have_ to take me.' Rose's voice seemed to ebb into the background as he stood, immobile.

His body wavered as he watched, like a cheap twenty-fourth century hologram, becoming translucent. He didn't feel anything (apart from a persistent nausea), a fact which instantly set his mind back in motion.

The only theory that made sense was, of course, that none of it was real, but was in fact just wishful thinking as he bled all over the pavement. And it _was_ wishful; he would be hard pressed to think of a place he'd rather be, or people he'd prefer to be with. Though he doubted this was heaven; if it were, there'd probably be a lot more kissing.

At this he found himself staring into the Doctor's unseeing face, but predictably this brought the limb penetrating his midriff back to his attention. It was worryingly easy to forget about in such close proximity to that smile.

He sucked in his breath and, the Doctor's arm offering no resistance, slipped out of the unconventional embrace, and looked wonderingly down at his hand, turning it over a few times as it regained opacity, though the tips of his fingers stayed fuzzy.

Still absently flexing his fingers, he continued theorising, the cold logic calming him. If what he was experiencing _was_ real, against all reason, then it meant that he was somehow being projected into a wholly different location, which would take an _incredible_ amount of power.

That he was at least partly corporeal and able to interact with his surroundings, if not its inhabitants, and that the TARDIS was in flight, within the vortex itself... phew. Such an energy source was inconceivable.

Suddenly, the Doctor gave a yell. 'Rose! Rose, hold that lever, quick! No, that one!'

She looked startled and rushed forwards to comply, finding the correct handle after a few attempts. He grabbed the monitor, jabbing several buttons, his quasi-concern at whatever he saw quickly split by an anticipatory grin.

He yanked on something, and a great shudder shook the TARDIS. It jarred Jack into one of the strangely shaped beams (what were those anyway?) and he held on, much like the other occupants of the ship were to the console; the engines grew louder and louder, their wheezing accompanied by the groans of the ship and the bright blue glow of the central piston.

He got the impression that they were quickly gaining speed, as the ship spun from side to side.

In that moment, he swore that his stupid smile could rival the Doctor's; he'd missed this, and no matter how insane the situation, he still got a rush of adrenaline from it. His heart felt as if it was ballooning in his chest.

'What's the emergency?' Rose edged over to the monitor, still pushing down on the machine whilst trying to keep her balance.

Jack felt it a good idea to do the same, and pushed off from the side and towards the screen. He was glad, for a second, that they couldn't see him, flailing clumsily in the vague direction of the Doctor; it'd ruin his _flawless_ façade of grace and suavity. He stopped just in time to prevent himself falling into Rose, and craned his neck for a better view.

What he saw was more unbalancing than any amount of bucking the TARDIS could do.

'It's mauve,' the Doctor shouted over the racket, 'the universal colour for danger!' Jack stared at the screen showing the Chula ship, _his_ Chula ship, hurtling through the Time Vortex. He suddenly realised why he recognised Rose's shirt; it was what she was wearing when he had rescued her from a barrage balloon, in the middle of the London air raid.

It seemed so long ago now, his days as a con man, parking the wreck of the Chula ambulance in London to trick two unsuspecting 'time agents' into buying it.

He'd almost doomed Britain, then, and maybe the entire human race. It only down to the Doctor that they weren't all gas-masked, half dead zombies. And it was down to him that Jack, too, was so different to the man he'd have otherwise have become.

Now he _was_ thankful for his invisibility. If they could see him they wouldn't even recognise him, and he didn't think he'd be strong enough to bear that.

His ears seemed muffled suddenly, and he could no longer make out what the two were saying. He frowned at them, trying to focus on their moving lips, but his vision swam.

His head became light, and he thought he could hear that eerie singing again, punctuated by a growing TH-THUMP, TH-THUMP. Everything blurred into a coloured mass, and he felt like he'd just downed a bottle of Ventolean vodka.

'Really, Doc,' he thought, sounding hammered even in his mind, 'the most powerful ship in existence and you decorate it like the garage of a teen in the throes of his grunge phase. And you don't even have the decency to... have it in... focus...'

The mad colours whirlpooled into blackness, as the thumping in his head became unbearable, a great pressure built and pressed on his chest, his throat, his whole body burned in the aching, permeating pain he recognised as-

The aftermath of resurrection.

His eyes snapped open and he arched on the concrete, gasping in the chilly, Welsh night air.

* * *

**A.N: Thanks for reading, and I hope you all had a very merry Christmas!**


	4. Back to Base

Back to Base

'OWEN! Get your scrawny arse down here now!' Gwen's outburst as she marched into the Hub was unexpected after the tense silence of the car, and jarred Jack out of his repetitive thought cycle, if only for a moment.

It went something like, 'What the hell, what the hell, _what the actual hell?' _and was admittedly quite distracting.

'Alright, alright, don't get your pants in a bunch,' sounding disgruntled, Owen roused himself from the sofa. 'Bloody slave driver, you are, worse than him,' he said, gesturing at Jack as he grabbed a pair of surgical gloves. 'I take it I'm examining a corpse, then. Again. Oh, the joys of my job.'

'What. The. Hell. _Whatthehellwhatthehell-'_ 'What?'

Owen was looking at him pointedly, or rather, at the body bag slung over his shoulder. 'Oh, it's that weevil we've been after. The one that savaged those students? It was rabid, frothing at the mouth and everything. We didn't have a choice,' He went to shrug the bag off but Gwen stayed him with a grip of steel on his arm, gaze turned blankly ahead.

'Over ten minutes, Jack,' she said, 'I thought you were gone this time. Properly gone.' Her eyes were harder than her grip as she looked up at him and he could see anger on her face, badly masked as she kept her voice level.

'I'm fine. You know me, I'm the king of fine,' he unceremoniously dumped the weevil on the floor, and put on his best sincere smile.

'Queen of,' Owen muttered, though understanding grew on his face as he looked between them.

'I've seen your little trick enough times to know that _that_ wasn't normal. You can recover from a bullet to the brain in seconds, but it took ten minutes for a little weevil bite?'

'Weevils aren't exactly _little...' _his protests went ignored as he was pulled to the medical table.

Owen seemed as uneager as Jack. 'What am I supposed to do with the freaking Wolverine? He doesn't exactly need a GP, does he?' Gwen's eyes narrowed. 'Okay okay, Jesus woman, less of the butthurt.'

As he went through the usual checks, torch in the eyes, say 'aah', full body diagnosis with a purple sink plunger, his mind returned once again to other matters, featured in which was the all important debate 'has the world gone insane or have I?'

'Hey Tosh, Jack and Gwen are back!' Ianto's voice sounded from upstairs, 'Did you catch the - ah.' He'd noticed the body bag, then.

'Oh, good!' They heard the patter of her feet on the metal stairs before she rounded the corner, eyes glued, as usual, to the screen of her laptop. 'There was something strange I wanted to show you, Jack-' her eyes landed on him and she bit her lip in suppressed mirth.

'Wha hou hluffin ar?' He frowned, and spat out the two large swabs Owen had stuffed in his cheeks. 'Was that really necessary?'

'No, but it made you look like a hamster.' Owen smirked, and Tosh outright giggled.

He almost retorted, but at the sight of Gwen's mouth quirking into an unwilling smile, he just sighed theatrically. 'I take it that I'm fine then, if you're using me as comic relief?'

'Yeah, fine as a dandy and all that, though you might want to change your shirt.'

Jack pulled at the stiff, brownish patches. 'It was Gwen who shot the thing. Did you really have to be so _messy _when you're blowing out brains?' That got a full-blown smirk and a smack upside the head. 'Ow!'

'A little gratitude from the damsel in distress wouldn't go amiss. You should've been more careful,' Jack hoped that that would be the extent of his ' knuckle rapping'. At the moment he was just thankful that they weren't acknowledging that most of the blood was his.

'On that note Owen, you don't get to drool over my body anymore, I need you to examine that weevil; I've never seen anything like it. I don't know whether it was diseased, or mad or what, but it wasn't scared of us and the tranqs didn't work.'

It was Owen's turn to sigh as he slouched over to where the creature lay. 'Oh, and could you check its saliva for any... hallucinogenic chemicals?' Owen gave him a strange look, but nodded in assent. Jack turned back to Toshiko.

She wore the bemused expression of someone who has entered a conversation a little to late to fully understand it, but shook it off as she turned her screen to him. On it was a chart, made up of two dozen lines or so. He squinted at it, confused.

'It isn't rift energy, but it could be something worse. I've had a couple of spikes in the last week, and one about three hours ago-'

'But this is just monitoring mobile phone networks. What's so unusual about that?' She shook her head and pointed to the bottom of the graph, where he could just see a few bumps in a flat yellow line.

'Yes, it is for mobile phone networks, but this one in particular concerns me simply because it shouldn't be doing anything at all. It's been inactive for months now, since the day that Mister Saxon assassinated the President. It's called the Archangel Network, I don't expect that you've heard of it as you weren't here when - Jack?'

His heart did a strange thing where it missed a beat or two and then plummeted through the floor. He felt all the blood drain from his face, as memories flashed before his eyes.

God knows how he stayed standing. 'I know what it is,' he said, voice hoarse, 'but...' His mind was in a whirl as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. ''That's impossible.' He was shot, he died. Unless he regenerated, after all he is - no, _was_ a timelord. It just can't be - 'Did no one think to take those satellites down? You know, after their creator went batshit and almost killed us all?!'

Tosh looked slightly horrified and shook her head. It occured to him that it was probably him that was causing her to look like that ; to them, he wasn't making much sense. A glance at the others revealed them to be watching him with similar levels of concern.

But it couldn't distract him from the fear bubbling up in his stomach. It was irrational, he told himself, as he scruffed his hair, trying to think of another explanation. This was just too much impossibility in one day, even for him. 'The Master is dead, and the Doctor is gone.' He held onto the thought as he took a deep breath.

'Okay, sorry, Ianto, can you get the satellite equipment? Maybe some coffee?'

His voice broke on the last syllable, and everyone knew that they'd somehow strayed into the dangerous territory of one of the Things Jack Never Talks About, and Probably for Good Reason.

He cleared his throat. 'Owen, start testing that weevil for any signs of sickness, we need to find out if it's terrestrial and if it's contagious, we can do without more of them. Tosh, come with me. We need to set up tracking algorithms for that frequency, it's essential we find the source and trace any activity.'

He looked over to Gwen. 'You, go home to Rhys.'

'What? But-'

'Go home, have a glass of wine, stop worrying,' his voice turned teasing, 'We'll survive without your mothering for _one_ night.'

She rolled her eyes and pulled the mechanism to close the door. It must have needed oil, because it gave a loud, grating screech, which was answered with an irritated squawk from high above their heads.

'Aaw Gwen! You've only bloody woken Myfanwy!' She laughed as the door rolled across the suddenly frantic scene, pterodactyl dive bombing their heads, and knew that everything would be alright by the morning.

* * *

**A.N: Thanks for reading! Please review with any comments and suggestions.**


	5. Dormi Bene

Dormi Bene

Gwen balanced a tray of cups in one hand as the door slid open, trying not to in spill any of the steaming coffee as she worked the machinery. A quiet night in with Rhys had put the smile back on her face; she knew that she had probably overreacted the day before, but in Torchwood it was only your caution and your team mates that kept you breathing. And sometimes, even that didn't work.

'Morning guys! I brought Starbucks, you're going to need it -' her voice trailed off as the usual stampede for caffeine didn't begin; in fact, there was no one in sight.

Usually, at this stage of an all-nighter, people were running around on pure willpower to get the night's work done before they were invariably called out to investigate something or other, but she neither saw nor heard any movement.

She checked her phone again; another voicemail. The police were really stumped on this one, it seemed.

It was clear that the team hadn't simply gone home; there were still news reports, government files, even conspiracy articles on the Archangel phone network strewn over every surface, and Tosh's computers were still beeping, yet more pages on their screens

She tensed as she heard a strange noise coming from the other side of a staircase. It was inhuman, unlike anything she'd ever heard, like a growl or a snort or- her shoulders relaxed as she realised that she _had_ heard it before, from Rhys, only that morning. She rounded the staircase and there was Owen, sprawled on a couch, covered in medical papers and diagrams, snoring.

Even unconscious he managed to be annoying. She sighed, and poked him with her foot, hands still full of coffee. 'Wake up, Owen. Seriously, come on. OWEN!' She jabbed her heel into his ribs.

'OW! I tol' ya I can't find nuffin'!' He jolted awake, disoriented, and immediately scowled at her blearily. 'Gwen? What the everliving - I thought you were Jack. He's been at me all night, "Find anything yet? Now? What about now? Did you make sure to quadruple check?" Right nutter.'

'Jesus, someone's cranky without their caffeine fix. Here,' handing him his cup, she had a sudden thought, 'Wait, why are you even sleeping? Jack doesn't usually let us in the middle of research.'

'Must've dozed off, and he didn't notice; he's not exactly acting normal, is he? Yesterday he looked like he was having a panic attack when Tosh mentioned that phone thing, and he's been on edge about it all night, which is weird even by immortal gay alien standards.' He slurped obnoxiously.

'Oh, for the love of - He is not an alien! Probably just American. Not gay either, much too restrictive a label.' These were oft-debated topics when Jack wasn't there, but she wasn't interested at the moment. 'Come on, help me round up the others. I think the force have found a case for us.'

* * *

They all stood in a line, Tosh and Ianto still rubbing the sleep from their eyes and cradling their cappuccinos, surrounding the object of their interest, the prize of their treasure hunt.

'But I thought he didn't-?'

'He doesn't.'

'Then why is he-?'

'I don't know.'

'Do you think he's oka-?'

'_What do you mean he doesn't sleep?' _Apparently no-one had informed Owen of this aspect of Jack's physiology. 'Everyone has to sleep , to live, you can't just _not. _Even most aliens need a similar process, occasionally.'

'Well he doesn't. Not ever.' Everyone looked to Ianto as he spoke, and though his cheeks coloured he didn't lower his chin. His suit and hair were rumpled by sleep, the first time most of them had seen either unpristene.

Owen raised an eyebrow. 'What, so _you're_ Sleeping Beauty and he's your Prince Char-'

'That's enough, Owen, you're just pissy because he made you work. Now wake him up.'

Their gazes returned to their Captain, curled in an armchair, coat draped around him like a baby bird's wings, fast asleep. The sound of their talking disturbed him slightly, and he made a movement that could only be described as a 'snuggle', burrowing further into the chair.

Tosh made an involuntary sound, suspiciously similar to 'aaw', then shrugged helplessly at the other's incredulous stares. Non were more disbelieving than Owen's.

'What? I'm not going near him, he's dangerous enough when he's awake; when he's sleepy he probably has super ninja reflexes or some shit!'

Ianto was, as usual, deadpan. 'If you're too scared, why don't you let the _pr__incess_ do it.' Owen scowled and, clinging faithfully to his last shred of masculinity, edged closer to Jack's folded form.

'Oi! Oi, Jackie-boy!' He poked him and immediately jumped back, as if electrocuted. Then, emboldened by the lack of punching, he gave the man's shoulder a firm shake.

The reaction was significantly less ninja-esque than expected as Jack started violently and let out a small squeak, arms and legs becoming tangled in his coat, and toppled to the floor with a thump.

She didn't suppose he had much practice at waking, as a result of his condition, but that didn't stop her from laughing at his expense. She tried to swallow it but it bubbled up in her throat as he blinked up, confusion furrowing his brow; she could hear the others trying to stifle their giggles too; the worry and relief collectively nagging at them serving only to make them a little hysterical.

He looked really bewildered now. 'Was I just _asleep?_ I was, wasn't I?' He patted himself down, but found nothing obviously different.

Gwen nodded, and let out a strange laugh-sob. She didn't like getting this emotional and found a scowl settling on her face at her lack of control, though Jack looked worried that it was aimed at him. Quite right too, he was going to turn her bloody grey.

He quickly grew tired of being looked down upon, and scrambled to his feet, smoothing his coat and regaining his position of authority as the tallest by a good few inches. He swayed slightly, and Gwen could see her own concern mirrored by her colleagues; for the first time in anyone's memory, Jack looked kind of unwell.

He obviously saw this and it obviously thoroughly irked him. 'Well? I hope you haven't been slacking. Did you get anything new, Tosh? Ianto?' They both shook their heads.

'And Owen? Are you sure there was nothing strange about the weevil?'

'Yes I'm bloody sure!' The coffee hadn't improved his mood much. 'How many times? There was nothing wrong with it apart from it's brain was blown out. And what about you? Don't you act all mysterious again, what's going on with you? Why are you suddenly half-mortal or whatever? You have to tell us this stuff, we're your team and you already have too many bloody secrets.'

Jack looked taken aback. 'I don't know any more than you what's happening to me. Hell, I barely know anything about why I'm like this in the first place.'

He squared up to Owen. 'And I keep my secrets for a reason. You've no right to ask for them, just to sate your own _curiosity.'_

They glowered at each other, Tosh stood beside them, unnerved at how quickly their conversation had become heated, but Ianto intervened as Owen opened his mouth, mild as ever. 'I think Gwen may have a case for us, judging by the message you've just got from Sergeant Davidson.'

Gwen remembered the phone, lit up with a voicemail in her slack grip. Jack looked quizzically at Ianto as he turned from the still-simmering Owen. 'That nice ginger policeman? Now who's for a cuppa?' Without waiting for a reply he walked out.

She put Andy's first message on speaker and his relaxed Welsh drawl rang out. 'A'ight Gwen? It's Andy, just thought I'd give you a heads-up, the morning patrol found something dodgy up in the council estate, think they might be calling your lot soon. They don't sound too sure, though. I'm on my way up there now, talk to you later.'

And the next, 'Hey, Gwen, Andy again,' he sounded a lot less breezy than before, 'Just got up here. It's some bloomin' bad business, I tell you. Couple murders. They're still not sure whether to call in you _special ops, _or whether to arrest this guy. I'd get here quick if I were you, it's either one of yours or something for the loonybin. If you've got any doctors, you should probably bring them.'

There were two more, just asking her to call back or hurry up, so she deleted them and looked to Jack. His eyes looked faraway again, as if he was thinking about something else, but he summoned up the enthusiasm to grab a couple of clips and slide his guns into his belt.

'Come on then, Gwen, Owen. Tosh, you carry on with the Archangel thing, remember what I told you about the telepathic field, see if you can pick up any traces from our end.'

They grabbed their equipment and weapons and left the Hub, just as Ianto came in with the tea. He put the tray down next to Toshiko then slumped heavily into the seat as they looked back over the previous night's work.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, as Tosh smiled sympathetically. 'All this,' he gestured to the research, 'and Jack? Something bad's going to happen, I can feel it.' She nodded ruefully, but her eyes landed on a sheaf of paper, and she squinted at it. She grabbed a few more, scanning them quickly, dismay spreading over her face.

'Ianto, look.' She thrust them under his nose, pointing out several highlighted areas. He gabbed them and read through, realisation slowly dawning, though he didn't want to accept what he was seeing. Their eyes met, a mutual 'oh shit' communicated.

'You mean- the whole- all of them?'

'Trust me, if this is right, something _really_ bad is going to happen.'

* * *

**A.N: Thanks for reading! Please review suggestions and comments.**


	6. Family Man

Andy gritted his teeth and flipped open his phone. _'Will_ _b __2 mins, dont move anything,' _ Gwen's reply read, and though he didn't doubt that she was heading there as quickly as she could, it didn't stop him from resenting her slightly; _she_ hadn't been dealing with this mess since six o'clock.

He winced as the door of the quiet suburban house behind him slammed open, and turned to see one of the newer recruits retching on the porch. He rushed to steady the kid, who smiled wanly at him, white as a ghost.

'I'm sorry, Officer Davidson, I thought I could handle going back in...' It was Jamie, the one who'd discovered the crime scene. First week on the beat, too. The lad looked downcast at his own weakness of stomach, as if he expected to be reprimanded.

He opened his mouth for the standard 'it's normal to feel guilty' therapy spiel, but Jamie's eyes brightened as a shiny black Range Rover pulled into the drive. 'Woah, is that... _them?'_

Andy let out a sigh as the three black-clad figures emerged from their (unnecessarily flash) car. 'Yes it's _them._ "Special ops_". _Just don't ask questions, and don't aggravate them, they've got bigger guns. Oh, and avoid the American.'

Jamie suddenly looked a little daunted, and Andy went to greet the arrivals. 'Gwen! Good to see you! And... you people.' His less- than- warm welcome went unnoticed by the two men flanking Gwen, however, because they both seemed to be more interested in glaring confrontationally at the other.

'Hey, Andy. What've you got for us?' Gwen walked beside him up the path. The smaller, sullen-looking man hung back, fiddling with some complicated-looking equipment, and the taller in the army-surplus coat strode right over to Jamie and begun talking, leaning on the door frame.

'So, suspected double homocide? A disabled woman and her kid, right?' He nodded gravely.

'Yup, both stabbed to death, it's bad business- wait, have you been hacking police radio lengths again? Actually, nevermind, I don't want to know. Thing is, it's one of those locked-room murders, but it wasn't a professional or something like that; those poor folk have been downright butchered.'

'So you're thinking it was the dad? But there's no motive; they're all perfectly respectable people. He loved his wife, his family...' She frowned, as puzzled as he and the other policemen had been. 'Should we take a look?' He caught something grim and fleeting in her expression as she turned away, and when she tried to step down the path he held her back.

'Listen, Gwen... is everything okay? I can practically _see_ the testosterone around those two; they looked pretty pissed off a minute ago. Is there something going on?' She begun chewing her lip and glanced at the American, still chatting animatedly to the young officer.

'It's nothing. They're like squabbling kids sometimes, I swear. I mean, he's probably fine- Jack! Seriously? Stop it!' Gwen was obviously concerned, but as she was distracted by the antics of her teammate, he let it slide.

Jamie's pallid face had turned bright scarlet, and he was stuttering wordlessly at Jack's wicked grin. 'Aw, come on Gwen, can't a guy have a little fun?' She shooed him into the house as he cast a wink over his shoulder.

'I- I... H-He-' Andy patted the boy, who was doing a very good impersonation of a goldfish, on the shoulder.

'I know, kid, I know, he needs to be put on a leash.' Jamie squeaked and flushed even redder, if it were possible. 'Right, sorry, sorry. He did ask about the actual crime scene too, right?' He nodded. 'Then get on home, I'll file the report to the Inspector.'

Andy, followed by the doctor, stepped into the dim corridor.

* * *

'Why exactly are we here?' The dark-haired doctor, Owen, asked, sat back on his heels. He gently returned the child's arm to her side, and wiped the blood off his gloves, before moving to examine the mother's body too, spread-eagled in front of her tipped wheelchair. He brought out a strange beeping device, scanning her up and down.

'Well, we weren't sure whether to call you lot or not,' the Sergeant's gaze was sharp as he looked to Andy, 'But we decided it best to err on the side of caution.'

'You can be _too_ cautious, you know; we aren't here to help you with every domestic murder that's too difficult for you.' The Sergeant swelled at Owen's words; he made no secret of his skepticism towards the Torchwood bunch.

'It wouldn't hurt to know what you _are_ here for! You Special Ops just turn up at any out-of -the-ordinary crime scene like you own the place, and _this,'_ he gestured to the grisly mess on the floor, 'is in no way ordinary!'

Andy agreed; even apart from the strange circumstances of the murder, there was a creeping feeling of danger whenever he neared the mutilated bodies on the living room floor that made his hair stand on end. It was, partially, why he'd called them in.

'There were no signs of a forced entry?' The tall American in the absurd coat seemed less interested in the inter-factionary feud, 'And the father is still missing?' At the Sergeant's terse nod, he joined Doctor Owen in examining the corpses.

'They've been stabbed, if you can call it that, and the cause of death is just blood loss; we really don't need to be here, Jack.' Andy was stood close enough to overhear the pair's hushed conversation. 'They'd be better off finding and pulling in the father, maybe giving the nuthouse a ring in advance. That poor kid - they were carved. Can't have been a quick death.'

They stood simultaneously, dusting themselves off, apparently well over any earlier dispute.

'We'll look into it, but - what the hell?' A chorus of horrified yells sounded from the officers upstairs, and after a shocked second Andy set off, hot on Gwen's tail.

A small group of officers were clustered on the landing, radios out and talking frantically, as two more braced their shoulders against the door of the master bedroom. They looked to the newcomers in desperation as the door bulged, someone inside fighting to get out.

'Andy! Oh my God, it's him, it's the dad, we didn't see him, he was under the bed. He's gone completely batshit, proper psycho-' The young policewoman with flyaway hair was babbling, terrified, but Jack and Gwen seemed to get the message, and drew their guns.

'Okay, on three, move out of the way. Ready? One... Two...' Abruptly, the barrage on the door ceased, and silence fell.

Gwen edged towards the door, shushing their cautions, gun cocked and ready. She opened it slightly, ready for an attack, but at the stillness continued, and she slowly pulled it open until they could all see the man, crouched in the shadows. He hid his face in his arms, which were coated in gore to the elbow, rocking and mumbling.

Andy hesitated, but followed the three in, the rest of the officers blocking the entrance. As they drew closer, the man's words became discernible.

'I didn't mean to, I didn't, why did I? It wasn't me, it wasn't me, _I_ wasn't me... WHY?!'

His stare flicked up to them, wild and red, not for supernatural reason, but because of the many burst blood vessels in the whites of his eyes. The man looked driven out of his mind. Was he hemorrhaging? Could his pschycotic behaviour be put down to a burst vein in his brain? Andy had heard of such things on the news, but...

Blood leaked from his eyes and nose, and the saliva hanging from his mouth was streaked with it. Andy watched on, incapacitated by terror and disgust, as Gwen knelt, one hand outstretched in a pacifying gesture but the other firmly on the handle of her gun. Not looking away, she spoke.

'Andy, what did you say his name was?'

'...Oh! Um, Gerald... Larton, I think.' He was no longer looking at them, once again covering his face.

'Okay, Gerald, I need you to tell me what happened. Did you kill your wife and daughter?'

'...I...I...Yes. I think I did. I don't know. It... No! It wasn't me! It was in my head, it made me, HOW WAS IT IN MY HEAD?!' He screamed into his hands, and Andy felt the two men at his side tense.

'You mean... In your mind? What was it?' Gwen looked back to the Captain, and mouthed, 'Telepathy?' Andy frowned at the fact that this was _obviously_ the most sensible and commonplace explanation to them. Jack shrugged, but nodded.

'Maybe,' he crouched down by Gwen, 'Gerald, who was inside your head? What did they make you do?'

'It was... the Voice. It hurt so much, I couldn't- It told me how the world is going to end. It told me to get rid of the expendable humans. So I did. I got a knife and- they were so weak, it was so easy to carve and cut and _slice_ and...and...' His mad tirade was interrupted by a raw sob.

'Why? Why did I do it?' Tears streamed down his face, tracking through the dirt. 'They were my family, I loved them, I didn't mean-'

He stopped. His back straightened, eyes blank. Andy looked to the others, but they seemed as confused as he. In a flat voice, bereft of the emotion that had been there a second before, Gerald intoned:

'**Face identified; Captain Jack Harkness,**

**Associate of the Doctor,**

_**Kill on sight.'**_

Before anyone could react, a policeman in the doorway yelled, 'Look out! He still has the knife!'

Unfortunately, this distracted the two closest to the murderer for the split second he needed to snatch the knife from it's hiding place and, as Gwen fell back, fumbling at her belt and cursing, Jack tackled Gerald, pinning him down.

'What do you know about the Doctor? Who's giving you orders?' Jack growled, his forearm pressing on his opponent's neck, but the other man just grinned, manic once more. Andy, Gwen, and Owen all jumped to interfere, but it happened to quickly to prevent.

'**The Angel. As his will is in heaven, so shall it be on Earth, and he has decreed "_The Doctor shall not be saved."_**

And with that, Gerald jerked his arm free and plunged his knife into Jack's midriff.

* * *

Jack jolted awake, a rushing noise in his ears and lights flashing behind his dark eyelids. Golden lights.

'_Come away, O human child,_

_To the waters and the wild...'_

As he heard the first strains of music, there was only one thought in his mind.

'Aw, crap.'

* * *

**A.N: Thank you for reading. Please leave comments and critisisms below. I'll try to update soon!**


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